Lovely Conspirator
by Bijou Lee
Summary: The Question finds himself caught in a web of suspicion and paranoia that may lead to an epiphany about his relationship with Helena. Will he figure it all out in time, or is this just a ploy to get his attention?
1. First Fight

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Justice League.

It has been a very long time since I wrote on . Not to mention that this is the first tribute to one of my favorite couples in the League. Really, the best, quirkiest pair ever made. I just wish that this truly happened in the DC world. So here is my version, since I can't express it in any other way. I hope you enjoy reading it.

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A well of unease and suspicion formed an abysmal pit in his gut. It was growing and expanding, mutating into something dark and unnerving. Connecting the dots, from point X to B, his form of thought was never linear. It crisscrossed and swerved into different directions. Like a tangent, his perceptions were deemed bizarre and uncanny. Disgusted even. But he never gave it further assessment. Until now.

Vic found himself moping in front of the blank screen. Yes, moping. Not brooding over the One World government located in Casablanca or coma-induced toothpaste from China. Stark whiteness that illuminated from his computer would have calmed him. But this time, his source of solitude, his electronic house of nonlinear theories and convictions gave him no motivation to work. Something blocked his stream of conscious thinking. His quirky neurotransmitters found themselves dysfunctional and static. The only thing that raced through his mind was Helena.

It all started last night. Their first real fight escalated when he pointed out her refusal of bequeathing to him her extra key. They were having dinner in his apartment; he was hunched over his newspaper clippings while she sat next to him with her legs crossed over reading _Cosmopolitan_.

Without her sensing his gaze, he watched her amusement peaking as her lips twitched upwards in a mischievous smirk. Her eyes twinkled ominously, her tongue smoothing her upper lip as she read an article that clearly humored her.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're luring your food into bed. And I don't mean hunger pangs," Q said after having a bite of Helena's famous meatballs.

"You jealous?" Helena dropped the magazine and slid a pointed heel along his inner thigh.

Q responded by one-handedly grabbing her ankle, slipping off her shoe, and massaging her tired sole. She instantly purred and pounced onto his lap, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. She leaned in for a kiss when his communicator beeped to life.

He cursed inwardly before responding to the Martian's call.

Unfortunately for Helena, Vic switched instantly to The Question when Justice League called. His whole body went stiff and stone-cold against her warm caress.

She was making a move to pluck the comlink out of his ear when Vic suddenly stood up. Her quick reflexes saved her from hitting her hip against the edge of the table. Vic, however, didn't seem to notice. He nonchalantly marched into his room, leaving his half-eaten spaghetti and meatballs behind. In retrospect, he made an about-face to gather his paper clippings before resuming his journey to his room to change.

Angry and disappointed, Helena swung the rolled magazine at his back.

He stopped short in the hallway, half-turning to meet her glare.

"This is why I don't even bother," Helena grabbed his plate and plunked it on top of hers.

"This is why…?" This caught Q's attention.

"You always shut me out whenever the League calls. Makes me feel like a hooker," Helena was close to dropping the plates.

"Helena," Q started in her direction but she turned around to avoid him. "It's my job."

"Everything is your job. Your newspaper clippings, computer, your billboard with arrows pointing in all directions. Even in your sleep you mumble your stupid conspiracies out loud that I can't even get one night of silence." Helena stomped into the kitchen.

Q followed her. "_Conspiracy_. Singular."

"You're correcting me now?" Helena yelled, slammed a hand on the counter.

"Helena, please. Calm down."

"I'm out of here," she said, walking past him on her way out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going? Aren't you sleeping in?"

"Not when _your_ beloved League is asking for you," Helena grabbed her purse and keys. "What's the point of me staying when you'll be up there for the whole week. Maybe longer."

"This mission will be short."

"Yeah, two nights up there and snooping around for the rest of the week. It's like you're never around. You shut me out all the time."

"That makes two of us," Q said. As soon as he said it, however, he felt like digging his own grave. Now he wished he could jump into a hole than having to deal with the fuming Huntress.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Helena offered him her angry, undivided attention.

"You complain that I don't open up when I let you stay in my apartment. You even have an extra key. You, on the other hand, always avoid any discussion regarding me stepping one foot in your apartment."

"So now you're implying that I'm the frigid one?" Helena scoffed. "Letting your girlfriend in the apartment doesn't come close to a get-out-of-jail card, Q. But if that's how your past relationships were—if you even had one—fine. You want a key, make one. I bet you know where the spare key is."

Q didn't respond.

Helena turned the knob when she said, "Don't bother calling me this week. I'll be having company." With that said, she slammed the door after her.

For the first time in his life, Q knew that his theories would be of no help for him. As he plowed through his memory during the past month, he could name a few men that held her interest, though they were minor she'd tell him.

His mind was blank. Butterflies took flight in his stomach. He was suddenly hungry.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the stove. A fork dove into the pot and a roll of spaghetti was ready to be ingested. But this time it would be tasteless and of slimy texture. It would leave a dirty taste in his mouth. It was like finding out that your girlfriend has been interested in another man besides you.

The Question called the Martian to decline the job. Something suddenly came up in Gotham.

He was not about to tag it as cheating. Conspiracy or not, Q was going to get to the bottom of Helena's mystery _man_. Though it could be nothing. Just a fragment of Q's paranoia. But for her to act so coolly, there has to be something. Though the truth may leave him broken forever; somehow, knowing was always better than not knowing. That was just the way he was.

With his fedora in place, Q sprayed his chemical disguise on and walked out the door.

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First option: tap into his girlfriend's phone lines. Second option: peruse the past two months' telephone bills. Third option: disguise as the security guard and keep watch of whoever visits her.

Or, fourth option: stake her apartment from the roof of a thirty-story building right next to hers. On any ordinary night this would have automatically topped his list. But tonight was still experiencing the humid beatings of an earlier rain shower. It was tempting to bring along bottled water to the stakeout but he couldn't risk going to the bathroom and losing sight of whatever is going on with Helena at this hour.

With his binoculars glued to his unseen eyes, he watched her saunter into her bathroom. When she emerged with a silky robe draping her incredible physique, she instantly made a grab for her phone. Someone must be calling her.

A smile brightened her face and softened her eyes. Her head tilted back in amusement. Q had never seen her smile or laugh like that when she was with him.

Sighing, he berated himself for not tapping her phone lines.

When his mind wandered to the sinister place plagued with suspicion and imaginary lovers talking dirty behind the hapless idiot of a boyfriend, his mind woke from its reverie when she suddenly stripped out of her bathrobe and was completely naked.

Q could feel himself profusely sweating. Particularly in the area below…

On second thought, '_Why does she never remember to close the blinds?" _Although he could never get sick of the view…

She quickly put on her jeans and blouse—her casual wear. But not before he caught her slipping on her lacy underwear. No man could resist the lace. It was almost always hypnotic. Even now he could feel the pull drawing him to the verge of falling over. But the spell was instantly broken when she donned her jeans.

Shame.

He turned around and began making his descent to the busy life below.

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Q was careful not to drive closer than ten yards behind her. He made sure that at least two cars were blocking her view. He followed her to Bludhaven. When she led him to more shrubbery, however, he grew uneasy. Was she on to him? Did she suspect a tail?

But she never hesitated. She clearly had a destination in mind. And before he knew it, Q found himself cruising down a neighborhood. Because he and Helena were basically the only drivers on the road, Q made sure that he was at least fifteen yards from her with his headlights turned off.

Just when she turned right at a curb, Q slowed down. He was inching forward until he heard her dying engine. Did she finally realize that someone was following her? He stopped the car and waited. He stopped breathing. He parked right next to a yellow house, the curb just three feet from him.

He then heard footsteps clicking down a stony walkway. Sensing her proximity, Q slid out of the car and crouched behind a line of shrubs, peeping to see which house she was visiting. He caught a glimpse of her profile standing at the porch of the yellow house.

The door swung open and Helena beamed at the host. She disappeared from his sight.

Q tiptoed to the window and found himself looking at the living room.

Right there in the living room was Helena with her arms wrapped around an older man. He could feel his lungs constricting; he should have brought a brown bag with him. After watching her peck the man's cheek, Q turned away, hunched over. He could no longer keep it up tonight.

He had to take his mind off things. Perhaps the One World government would momentarily put him out his misery. Or maybe…

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_Breaking into_ Helena's apartment and hacking into her computer took him no longer than five minutes, but having to sift through her inbox was torturous work. Definitely worse than downloading terabytes of secret government files.

"An email from Reggie Bronx, Sean Dumpsteen, Jonathan Wright, Walter Greens, John Meyer…" Q was a click away from deleting all her messages. Well, a majority of her incoming messages were from men.

An email from John Meyer caught his eye. The subject line was a reply to 'Lover Spat.' He clicked on the message and read it.

'_Sorry to hear that, Lena. I just found out that Tina made plans and you know what that means. Come by at 8?' _

"Lena? That's her nickname?" Q felt his brainwaves slowing down. He could feel the crushing weight of his ribs, or his heart, whichever works—was there a difference?—but the only thing roaming through his mind was Lena. Helena. Cheating with a married man. Kissing the married man in the living room.

Oh, numbness spread through his body like wildfire. He had to get out before Helena walked in…

He heard the key click at the front door. How long was he on her computer? He checked the time. It was a quarter to ten.

_Great._ The first and only time he didn't pay attention was snooping around his girlfriend's emails.

He quickly logged out, shut the computer, and nearly flew to the window. Q was just closing the windowpane behind him when he saw the lights switched on.

Before falling to his doom, he might as well have one last look at the only one who accepted him for who he really was. Her bare, chiseled back faced him with her long black hair sweeping across her shoulder blades.

Q didn't notice that he was standing in a precarious position when his body shifted to the side for a better view. When he leaned his weight toward the window even more, he lost his footing and slipped, grabbing the ledge just in time.

Helena must have heard the commotion because she was looking down at him from her window with a puzzled look. Oh God, she looked gorgeous with her tightly knit eyebrows.

"Q! What the hell are you doing outside my window?"

"Questions later. Mind giving me a hand?" Q yelled.

She helped him up and into her apartment. She waited until he finally could breathe. He tentatively walked toward her with his head bent down in silent apology.

"If you think that forgoing the League for only one night will make up for the other nights will make me forgive you, well, you're wrong. And that includes the possibility of surprising me by sneaking into my apartment for some fun-loving…" Before Q could respond, Helena pulled him in by the tie—she loved making the first move—and kissed him.

"Either your mission was really short or you really did call in sick," Huntress whispered.

"The latter," Q said, giving in to Huntress' kisses.

Deluged by each other's hot embrace, they forgot the questions tucked away in the back of their minds. And Q partly thanked his lucky orange boxers for Huntress' very forgiving nature toward the quirkiest, most unintentional romantic gestures that the Question never failed to provide. As they slid into bed, Q made a mental note to leave before Helena woke up the next morning. He would blame the League but he had something else to look into.

What was the relation between Helena and this John Meyer? And if, God forbid, Helena was having an affair with a married man, why was she so hungry for Q right after their supposed tryst? Unless the married wretch had no talent for satisfying one of the most turbulent women, Q still had something worth digging into. Call it madness, but even the worst kind of truth was a drug. His kind of drug.

Even if it meant the culminating end to their relationship.

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_To be continued…_

And reviews are much appreciated!


	2. Closure

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your reviews. And rest assured that I would not dampen Helena's integrity by making her a cheater. She doesn't deserve it all. After watching the Justice League, Huntress and The Question deserve their own show. They are really one of the best couples ever made in Cartoon/Comics history.

Enjoy the final chapter of this short fluff!

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John Meyer? Now why did the name sound so infuriatingly familiar, a name like music to every prepubescent's ear?

Shrugging the question out the back of his mind, Q resumed his mind-numbing, gut-wrenching perusal of Helena's emails that he forwarded to himself last night (and like the super sleuth that he was he made sure to delete all traces—Sent messages addressed to his inbox, for example—of what had transpired). Some messages were from her classmates in boarding school. Judging by their slang—and background check that Q was simultaneously doing at the same time—many of them either dealt with drugs or resided in the rehab center.

Luckily for Q, Helena always retaliated with a 'fuck off' and a virus that Q unsuspectingly gave to her when she asked for it months ago. _That's my girl._ Even on her emails, she sounded like the Huntress, the bearer of fear and doom.

On the other hand, there was a minority whom she tolerated and responded with care. Most of their messages, however, were one-liners containing spelling and grammatical errors. Either they skipped college or they were dyslexics. In fact, there was a sender by the name of Marcus who _needed_ Helena to come over to his house this afternoon. He also claimed that his parents were over so dinner was on them.

"Meeting the parents now, are we?" Q said under his breath.

Another email caught Q's eye. It came from John Meyer.

'_Hey Lena. Sorry about last night—got distracted. Let me make it up to you. How does tonight at 8 sound?'_

"8 sounds perfect," Q mumbled to himself.

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Q glanced at his watch. It was half past three and a crowd of midgets with crooked smiles and dimpled cheeks dispersed out of the building. Some ran straight for the playground. Others bid their friends goodbye and hopped into their parents' SUVs.

This was going to be a long wait.

Two hours later, a svelte figure finally emerged from the school's main entrance. She was carrying the remaining stack of papers left for grading. She headed straight toward her car and gunned the engine as soon as her legs were tucked in safely. Slamming her car door shut, she revved out of the parking out and onto the street, merging into traffic in one minute's time.

She was obviously in a hurry to leave. And Q knew where the first stop was going to be.

He followed her along one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Star City. Past tall palm trees and gated mansions, her car made a beeline toward an adobe-style house with orange tiled rooftops, much like those seen in Italy. Or Stanford University. Instead of barricading trespassers with a titanium gate like its neighbors, the house was preempted by a roundabout driveway with a fountain in the middle. For security measures, a couple of surveillance cameras guarded the entryway, an entryway that should have been occupied by a gate, Q kept insisting to no one else but himself.

Helena drove through the entrance without hesitation. Q thought it would have saved them a lot of money; including the guards' time, if they just had gates rather than making security watch every passerby in the vicinity. Sometimes the mentality of rich people was just too damn strange, that complicated schematics and expensive equipment both outweighed common sense any day. Seriously, what would prevent a burglar from slipping in when there was clearly nothing to hinder them? Unless the security cameras administered electric shocks at trespassers, there really was no point in installing them.

Q parked on the street across from where the blundering rich folks lived. Taking his aerosol from his coat pocket, he sprayed himself while he unzipped his gym bag. He glanced around him to see that no one was walking by. When the coast was clear, he began changing out of his suit and into something more… common.

When he was finally done, he capped his fiery-red hair and grabbed his toolbox. Crossing the street, he moved quickly to the wall before the camera glanced in his direction. He then planted a device on the wall that would momentarily disable the cameras and its source connection from the inside. And he made a mental note to thank the Batman for _lending _him one of his gadgets.

Q pocketed the device and took out his phone. It was ringing and the number was unknown. Intercepting the phone lines was easy.

He picked up after the third ring.

"ADT. What seems to be the problem, Sir?"

"The security cameras suddenly stopped working, and some of the computer screens are busted. Oh wait, the boss just called and said that some areas in the house blacked out."

_Wow. The stuff's even better than I'd hoped. _

"We have someone on call who's already in the area. He just finished so he'll be there in five minutes tops."

"Alright, thanks."

"No, thank you." Q walked to his car and waited.

When six minutes passed, he sauntered toward the entrance and pushed the doorbell. He spoke to the mouthpiece and said, "ADT. You called earlier about a problem with your cameras and computers?"

Static permeated the air before a deep voice replied, "Come on in."

Q walked down the cobbled driveway, marveled at the nude mermaid pouring water over herself, and found himself standing wide-eyed at the mahogany door looming in front of him. After a couple of knocks, a butler welcomed him in. He immediately led Q to an elevator that was located between a wide set of staircase—two of which started at the bottom, winding its way up from both ends of the large room and converging on the second floor.

The butler waited for him to step into the elevator. After doing so, the old man hit the 'Down' button. As soon as they landed, the doors slid open to reveal a room housed by two guards and several computer screens. It was the usual security equipment every billionaire from Star City would have. Q then asked the butler which rooms needed some repair.

"Besides the security cameras and the computer screens, just the East Wing," the butler said coolly.

"Oh, anyone residing in the East Wing?"

"The library and Master Marcus' bedroom. Now, if you'll excuse me," he bowed ever so slightly before re-entering the elevator.

"Hey ADT guy. Mind doing your job? Both our jobs will be on the line if you don't hurry up," one the guards growled at Q.

"Bad day?" Q asked calmly. He removed the main plug from the system to reboot and took out Batman's device from his pocket.

"Dumb generator must have gone bust or something. Fried part of the system."

"Hey, Rocky. Gonna be on the lookout outside. Call me when everything's all done." The other guard was heading toward the elevator when Q stopped him.

"That won't be necessary." Q hit the power switch and the system started running again. He immediately pocketed the device.

"You guys are getting better," the guard smacked Q's back. "Thanks, man."

"It would have been a lot easier if you just get a gate," Q said.

"Tell me about it. Damn rich people have a mind of their own," the guard admitted.

"Well, there's still the East Wing that needs to be checked on. Have a good day," Q tipped his hat and sauntered to the elevator.

"Hey!" one of the guards exclaimed.

Q turned around.

"You forgot your toolbox," the guard handed it over.

"Thanks," Q said. He stepped into the elevator and hit 'Up'.

Next stop, the East Wing.

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"Okay, Ms. Bertilleni. How about this one?"

"Now, Marcus. What did I just tell you about asking for help _after_ you have read and tried solving the problem?"

"But Ms. Bertilleni… look at this question. It's like super long. And like, super hard."

"You don't know that. You haven't even read the question," Helena ruffled the boy's hair. "And what did I say about using the word, 'like'?"

"Use it only when describing things. I get it. But like—" Marcus stopped mid-sentence when he saw Helena squint at him. "Sorry, Ms. Bertilleni. So can you help me with this one? Please…"

"Alright, read me the question. And make it quick. It's getting dark outside," Helena said, looking out the window as the sun began to wan. Despite the sudden blackout, the library was staring right at the sunset so there was enough illumination—at the moment. But with each passing hour, Helena made the suggestion of moving to his parents' study. Marcus quickly declined her offer, told her that he was prohibited to disturb his parents while they were working.

"What about the kitchen? I'm sure your parents wouldn't want their son to go blind."

"Well, they wouldn't want me to disturb the chefs," Marcus sighed.

"Who said anything about disturbing the chefs? In fact, you'll be enlightening them with your excellent problem-solving skills."

"Please…" Marcus rolled his eyes as Helena nudged him to continue reading the problem. Marcus resumed reading, "Al's father is 45. He is 15 years older than twice Al's age. How old is Al? Karen is twice as old as Lori. Three years from now, the sum of their ages will be 42. How old is Karen?" He looked at her expectantly.

"I'm not answering the question. You are," Helena said sternly.

"But Ms. Bertilleni…"

"Marcus, read the question. Think. Read it again until it makes sense. You're not trying to understand it. You're already giving up before you've even tried. C'mon, that kind of attitude isn't helping you. And I'm not silver-spooning you."

"Silver-spooning…?"

"You know what I mean," Helena lightly touched his strawberry-blond locks. Without thinking, she stared at it, almost mesmerized, as it reminded her of someone's darker shade…

"Ma'am?" A soothing deep voice woke her from her reverie.

His face was masked by the early shadows in the room. Purple-pinkish rays inaugurated the moon's nightly appearance. Helena noticed Marcus squinting his eyes in the looming darkness.

"Marcus, let's move to the kitchen. You can't read in the dark…" Helena pulled the boy up when Q interrupted her.

"It's alright, Ma'am. The lights are operational." He switched on the lights from where he was standing at the threshold.

"Finally," Helena breathed a sigh of relief. "Took you long enough…" She turned around but found no one standing at the doorway. She rushed to the foyer and saw the butler bidding adieu to the evasive repairman. _Hmmm… strange._

"Ms. Bertilleni?" Marcus was standing right next to her.

"What is it, Marcus?"

"That guy didn't even say goodbye."

"Yeah, don't be like him," Helena couldn't help but smile.

"As if I want to be a repairman someday," Marcus went back to his chair with a frustrated sigh. "Please, Ms. Bertilleni, I really don't get this."

"You keep this up you'll end up like that repairman. Now, I'll read the question with you. And listen carefully," Helena sat back down. She quickly glanced at her watch to check the time. She had an hour and a half to go.

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Q was munching on his sandwich when he noticed Helena's car driving out of the mansion. It was already a quarter past eight and Q could tell that Helena was running late to her next appointment. The phrase _pedal to the metal_ was literal in the current situation. Q had to make sure that he didn't lose her.

En route to Bludhaven's relatively safer neighborhood, Q knew where her final destination was going to be. It was the same yellow house, the one belonging to dear old John Meyer.

Q was prepared for this particular visit. In the mansion, he planted a bug on Helena's jacket. When the butler first admitted him in, Q noticed that the door of the coat closet was ajar. After fixing the computers downstairs, Q had made a beeline toward the closet and bugged Helena's jacket.

And now, as John Meyer welcomed Helena into his arms, Q waited patiently, anxiously, for what would come next.

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"You're late," he said, kissing her on the cheek.

"Sorry, John. I have a student that needed help with math. His parents ignore him and his last tutor was caught drinking their best cognac," Helena returned the gesture before being led upstairs. "How's Tina?"

"She's out with some girlfriends," John said, ushering her into his study. "And that only means we have the rest of the night to ourselves."

"That we do," Helena chimed in. She sat on the futon and laid down with her hands folded atop her belly and her head gazing at the ceiling.

She waited for her therapist to start their session.

"I have to apologize for last night. Dylan hasn't wet the bed since he was 2," John started.

"John, it's fine. Really. In fact, I have great news to share with you after I came home last night," Helena could not conceal the excitement in her voice. John urged to say more.

"When I came home after last night's session, I was just exhausted and angry and just, damn miserable. Q was just so dense, so unresponsive to the advances I make. The guy's literally a Popsicle when I don't rub my legs against his dick. He doesn't make a move and he assumes that I will always be there for him. Well, I'm not. I have my own life to take care of. I mean, sure, it was great at first. After the _car accident_, Vic was more open to me. He even told me that I was the first girl whom he trusted the most." Helena paused for a breath. "I honestly do care about him. He's the first decent guy who did something not because he wanted to get into my pants. Well, maybe he did as an afterthought, but I could tell that he really cared and that's why I fell for him. But now… I don't know what to think anymore. It seems like all he could think is work, work, work. And I am just a side dish left out in the cold."

"But…" John could sense a twist in the story.

"But, just when I was getting ready for bed, I hear a noise outside my window. I go to check it out and end up finding Vic, spying on me. At first, I felt embarrassed that I didn't suspect his presence. But that got me thinking. The normal Vic would have been at work, slaving away with his newspaper clippings and computer data. But as I looked at him, he seemed vulnerable and just so damn cute. I just had to kiss him." Helena blushed like a little schoolgirl. "Last night was the best sex ever."

"Ever?" John raised an eyebrow.

"I don't want to admit it, but it's the best damn makeup sex ever!" Helena covered her eyes in shame.

"You two apologized to each other?" John asked.

"Well, it was implicit…" Helena trailed off.

"Uh-huh. So none of you apologized but it was the greatest makeup sex you've ever had." John scribbled something in his notes. "Interesting."

"What should I do?" Helena asked after a moment's pause.

"What do you expect to happen next?"

Helena mulled it over. "I honestly don't know. I never even bothered to ask what brought him to my apartment. He just looked like a little puppy that chewed on its master's slippers. As soon as I saw him, I just lunged at him and forgot why I was mad at him in the first place."

"You give in so easily, Helena. Unlike your past relationships, you submit yourself so freely to this guy. You think that you've assumed the dominant position in the relationship through your advances, but Vic has the upper hand. He does nothing and yet it unnerves you. It makes you feel weak and uncertain. Vulnerable. He doesn't respond to you like most guys do, so that makes you feel uncomfortable. The only way you knew how to hide the fear and doubt was to retaliate with anger."

"Well, wouldn't you feel the same way if you were in my shoes?" Helena interrupted him.

"Yes, I would have, I won't deny that. But you have to realize, Helena, that in order for this relationship to work, you have to open the channels of communication. You've made the first move by coming here, but Vic…"

"Vic's the last person to admit that the relationship doesn't seem to going anywhere. He would just shrug his shoulders and turn back to his computer, ignoring me completely. I bet you a hundred bucks that urging him to go to a therapist would be like asking him to admit himself in a mental hospital. He's not going to admit that there's something wrong with him or with the relationship."

"You wouldn't know unless you give it a try," John encouraged.

"You're really wasting your words with this one, Doc," Helena said.

"Just trust me," John glanced at his watch.

"Our ten minutes are up?" Helena sat up after a moment's silence.

"Twelve minutes. Do you want to talk for the remaining three minutes?"

"And jack up the price? We're good for now. Thanks, John," Helena rose and hugged her friend. "I needed that."

"Well, you're always welcome, my friend," John said with an assured grin.

"I'll email you with any more developments," Helena said as she swung the jacket over her bare shoulder. "Oh, and give my regards to Tina and Dylan."

"I will." He followed her downstairs and out the door, bidding her goodnight as her silhouette faded into the darkness.

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She slid the key into the lock and swung the door open, tentatively at first. The apartment was dark and unoccupied. The window was slightly open. Helena switched on the lights to confirm her former speculation. Q must have gone to work after all. Past the living room, she headed for his bedroom.

His minimalist décor somehow soothed her, and it ached her that she missed him immensely. She climbed into his bed and breathed in his scent.

"I wish… I wish I never asked for your help."

"If you did that, well, the League would have your head for eventually murdering the notorious Mandragora," Q was standing in the doorway with a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

"Q!" Helena jumped out of bed and into his arms. Q dropped everything as soon as she pounced on him.

"What are you doing here?" Helena asked, stroking his adorably red hair.

"Isn't it obvious?" Still carrying her in his arms, he managed to bend down and pick up the flowers. "I want to spend the rest of the night with my girlfriend."

Helena laughed, still skeptical. "Why the change of heart?"

Q walked toward the bed and set her down gently, sitting down next to her. "What you said two nights ago made me think a lot about how I've been treating you. And I agree, I haven't been fair. I always thought—believed—that you'd accept me wholeheartedly. That I didn't have to break a sweat in our relationship. But after we fought, I realized that just like any other link we have with humanity, each and every one of us has to work on making that bond stronger. And I especially am not immune to it. So, here I am, apologizing to the most amazing woman I have ever laid my hands on."

Helena couldn't help but smell the roses with a wide grin. She looked into his serious green eyes and touched his face. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have the greenest eyes?

"Just this once," Q said, moving in to kiss her.

After hours of nonstop lovemaking, Helena asked if Q was asleep. When Q responded with a snort, she asked, "Had fun touring around Star City?"

Q looked at her. "When did you find out?"

Helena leaned her head on his chest. "Even if you call me from Mars, I'd know your voice anywhere." She then sat up and rolled on top of him. "Which leaves me with one very important question."

And that would be…?" Q's big hands rested on her thighs.

"Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Time?"

"8 o'clock."

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_Fin._

You like? Don't like? Let me know!

Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun writing it.


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